


Initiation

by basilique



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Yuri Plisetsky, Boys Kissing, First Time, Gangs AU, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Screaming, Smut, Top Otabek Altin, Welcome to the Madness aesthetic, initiation ritual, otayuri - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 05:31:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11247291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basilique/pseuds/basilique
Summary: Yuri is not afraid, so why is heafraid? He's not afraid of losing his virginity. He's certainly not afraid of pain.Is he afriad because of Otabek’s dark eyes, his full lips, his rough-fingered hands? Is it because of the smell of him, that leather and cologne smell of an old playmate, role model, gang brother, friend?If he's not afraid that it's gonna hurt, is he afraid...that it might feel good?





	Initiation

**Author's Note:**

> This is the opening scene of a longer fic that I am working on called "Welcome to the Madness". I thought it would make a nice stand-alone story for people who just wanted some smut. :)

Yuri Plisetsky is not afraid. 

He has always known this day would come; his formal initiation into the arms of the Angels. 

It isn’t death. But it’s meant to be something like it. An enormous humiliation, meant to break him a little so that he would heal stronger. Meant to make him learn obedience, and what it meant to give your pride, your body, even your blood for the gang. 

It isn’t meant to be entirely torture, or to be entirely pleasure, this rite of passage. It is a sort of blood oath: I will place the gang above all else in the world, through what pleasure and pain may come. 

Yuri had been raised by the Angels. He knew their rituals inside out. And he had always known that one day he would have his turn to be initiated. And now that the day is here, he is ready for it. He is 16 and half years old, and he is _burning_ to take his place as a fighter, a provider, and a guardian of the Angels. 

He will be initiated by Otabek, the gang’s youngest leader; a legendary sharp shooter that Yuri had known all his life. And the gang, which has protected Yuri from the town's violence since his birth, will finally welcome him into the madness. 

Otabek is nineteen now; serious, proud, and, to his enemies, extremely dangerous. He and Yuri had grown-up together in these streets, and together with the other children of the Angels, they had fought countless vicious battles against the children of the Skins, the Roosters, and other rival gangs. 

Yuri had loved battle, thrived on it. He had always been full of spit and fury, and he had fought with all of his scrappy body: teeth and nails and soul. 

Otabek, on the other hand, had always been quiet. Where Yuri’s fight crackled off of his skin like electricity, Otabek’s was coiled deep inside of him like a powerful and patient snake. His venom was deadly, but he knew better than to waste it on the fights that didn’t really count. When he had been initiated to the Angels at the age of sixteen, he had been given the nickname “Cobra”. 

One day, they said, he would strike. He would strike for the good of the Angels and nothing would ever be the same in Havenport. 

Five years ago, Otabek and Yuri had been walking alone at night, and when Yuri had started a fight with a group of Skin kids for no reason at all, Otabek had stayed back in the shadows. He had let the other boys brutalize Yuri, kick and punch him until Yuri thought he was going to die. It was only then that Otabek had reacted. He was bigger than most of the Skin boys, and he had stepped into the light of a streetlamp, calmly pulling a pistol from inside his shirt. He had rolled up the sleeve of his right arm as he cocked the pistol, revealing a tattoo of a black cobra coiled around his forearm, and the other boys had fled for their lives. That tattoo, and Otabek’s steady gun hand, were already famous all across town. 

Yuri had understood why Otabek had waited until the last minute to save him. It was the responsibility of older Angels to teach younger ones to think before they acted, no matter how painful the lesson. 

But a strange thing had passed between them then. As the other boys ran away and Yuri slumped back against a wall, his head spinning and his face hot and smarting with blood, Otabek had stepped up to him and brushed his thumb through the blood that was trickling down from his nose over his lips. He had looked at it like he had never seen blood before. And he looked ashamed, and like he _regretted_ letting Yuri get hurt like this, the gang’s lessons be damned. 

“You know you’ve got to be more careful, Kitten,” he had said after a few quiet moments. “Violence follows you like flies follow sugar. One day, you’ll be initiated, and get into some _real_ fights, and then what’s gonna happen to you?” 

Yuri hadn’t answered, stunned dumb by the pain in his whole body, and with indignance at being called by his baby nickname, and by the intense beating of his heart. 

Otabek was inscrutable, and Yuri couldn’t tell what he was thinking in that moment, but he had thought that he saw emotion wrinkle Otabek’s fierce young brow. 

“Remember this:” Otabek had said, looking hard into his eyes with his thumb on Yuri’s bleeding lip, “when it’s your turn to be initiated, I want to be the one to do it. I know we’re not supposed to plan who it’ll be. But I’ll volunteer, if you tell me now that you want me to. I’ll be old enough.” Otabek had swallowed, and looked down for a moment. “And I don’t trust anybody else to do it.” 

*

Yuri slips quietly in the side entrance of an abandoned seaside inn. Outside, Otabek's motorcycle is parked against the wall. The sky is hot with the colors of the sunset, and the seafoam, rolling into the beach on gentle waves, looks red. 

He knows this building; it’s a meeting place for the Angels, situated safely in the middle of their territory, and he knows that plenty of members have been initiated in the basement. It is here that he and Otabek have been told to meet. Everyone knows where they are and what they will be doing. Many of them, Yuri thinks with mixture of gratitude and embarrassment, are probably praying for him right now. 

Yuri tries to act casual, to seem calm, as he walks down the stairs into the basement. He jams his hands into his pockets and jerks his head in greeting to Otabek, who is sitting on the leather sofa there in the dark, waiting for him. 

Yuri is not afraid, so why is he _afraid_? He's not afraid of losing his virginity. He's certainly not afraid of pain. 

Is he afriad because of Otabek’s dark eyes, his full lips, his rough-fingered hands? Is it because of the smell of him, that leather and cologne smell of an old playmate, role model, gang brother, friend? 

Is he afraid because he knows Otabek intends to be gentle? Because he knows Otabek actually _wanted_ , and after all these years, _still wants_ to be the one to do this? 

Is he afraid because he's _happy_ that it's Otabek? 

If he's not afraid that it's gonna hurt, is he afraid...that it might feel good? 

*

The boy before Otabek is shaking. He is scared, Otabek can tell; his hands jammed into his pockets, and his eyes lowered. He is scared of what they are going to do, but he would never admit that out loud. 

Yuri is slender and lanky, as he always has been. But he is coming into his muscle, and with his unconscious grace and fast reflexes, he will make a formidable gang fighter, and soon. He is smart and perceptive too; one day, if he learn to temper his spite and think before he acts, he may even make a fine leader. 

Yuri has a bone to pick with this town, and with the entire world, although he has never seen more than this tiny sliver of it. 

Neither Yuri nor Otabek has ever been outside this a bloodied beach town, a place of disappointed immigrant families; Italians, Russians, Moroccans, Slovakians, Mexicans, and others, many of whom came with wealth, and lost it somewhere along the line. They lost it to gambling, alcohol, and other types of robbery. And now the only signs of affluence in Havenport are in the gaudy seasonal processions for Jesus and the Virgin Mary, and in the fine black liquors that the gangs guard from one another with murderous jealousy, and pawn to wealthy tourists each summer at the pop-up carnival beside the beach. 

No, Yuri has never been outside of this town. But he would die for it, and for the honor of the Angels who raised him, without thinking twice. Yuri’s grandfather was an Angel, as was his fierce, single spitfire of a mother. And when they were both murdered, the Angels had brought him up, clumsy and ardent as a pack of wolves. They had called him Kitten. And the nickname still stuck, much to Yuri’s annoyance. 

Yuri wants to be a man, but he has a long way to go before he gets there. He is blaringly adolescent; peevish, arrogant, and full of unchecked rage. 

And the glory of the Angels is not something for impulsive little boys to fight for. 

Tonight, it is Otabek’s job to mark Yuri’s passage into manhood. To give him the pain, the surrender, and the understanding of the ways of the world that will make him ready to learn the life of a soldier. _But is he sure that he can do it?_

Otabek had wanted this task. Wanted it with an intense, uncompromising desire of the sort that he did not normally allow himself to feel. 

He is Yuri’s protector. He has been so in his mind, ever since he saw Yuri’s blood on that night five years ago when Yuri’s stupidity had nearly gotten him killed. He is Yuri’s protector, and he had wanted this task both because of and in spite of that fact. He doesn’t trust any of his gang brothers to take Yuri's virginity the right way. But he isn’t sure that he trusts himself to do it either. 

Something about the sight of Yuri’s blood on that night had shaken a piece loose in Otabek. And it has never healed. 

Yuri raises his eyes in the semidarkness. Defiant, afraid, a chilling pale green. He looks at Otabek for the first time since coming in, and there is challenge in his pinched face, in his lean, frightened body. “Well?” he says harshly. “Are we going to do this or not?” 

Outside, there is a peel of warm thunder, a harbringer of a storm rolling in from the sea. 

Otabek stands up and takes a step toward Yuri. He knows Yuri through and through, and Yuri does not want to see him doubting himself. Yuri wants Otabek to take control in this situation, wants Otabek to set clear expectations for him, so that he can either reject them or blow them out of the water. 

Otabek moves slowly, deliberately, like a wildcat stalking pray. And Yuri stands, shaking, his slender chest rising and falling hard, his limbs tensed as though preparing for a fight. 

Otabek takes a few more unhurried steps toward him. And then, looking into Yuri’s eyes, he slides forward all at once, silent and unstoppable, and pins Yuri up against the wall. 

Yuri gasps. He twists his wrists reflexively in Otabek’s grip as Otabek presses them to the wall above his head. But he stops fighting after only a moment, staring up at Otabek, his mouth slightly open with shock. 

Otabek holds his gaze for a moment, and then lets his eyes close, and rests his forehead against Yuri’s. 

“Yura,” he whispers, “listen to me. If you do not want to do this, I will not make you. There are some customs that are not always right. I will lie to the others if you ask that of me, and take it to my grave.” 

“ _No_!” says Yuri, so savagely that Otabek’s eyes open with mild surprise. “You cannot deny me this. I am going to become a man, and you are going to do it. Do not be gentle with me, Otabek! Don’t you _dare_ be gentle with me.” 

A sensation of heat shoots through Otabek’s hips, his stomach, his throat, and he presses his body up against Yuri’s. He slides Yuri’s wrists down the wall as he leans in for Yuri’s neck, bites a pinch of Yuri’s skin and drags his teeth over it. 

Yuri gasps, and sucks in air through his teeth. Otabek feels his wrists flex as his hands curl into fists, so he bites him again, on the part of his collarbone that is bared by his skewed muscle shirt. 

He lifts Yuri’s left hand to his mouth, and Yuri lets his fist soften and go limp as Otabek bites the white leather of his fingerless glove, and yanks it off with his teeth. Yuri’s chest rises and falls heavily, his breathing hard, as he watches Otabek, and Otabek meets his gaze as he does the same with the other glove, and tosses it aside with his teeth. 

Otabek has had sex before, with plenty of men and women, but he has never felt a heat like the one that sweeps through him now. It passes between them in that look, and Otabek can see Yuri feeling it too. It’s like a fever, a good but deadly fever, and they are giving it to each other. A sweat is breaking out between Otabek’s shoulder blades under his leather jacket, and he feels shaky and hot. 

He slides the jacket off of Yuri’s shoulders and lets it fall to the floor, and Yuri sways on the spot, his knees going weak. 

“Beka--” he starts to gasp. But Otabek’s hands are already sliding up under his shirt, Otabek’s arms wrapping around his slender waist. Their faces press together, and they are kissing, open-mouthed and desperate, as Otabek runs rough fingertips over Yuri’s chest, his ribs, his waist, marveling at his shape, at the milky smoothness of his skin. 

Yuri moans into the kiss, and the sound rips through Otabek like a bullet. He clutches Yuri against him fiercely, knocking all the air out of Yuri’s lungs. 

There is another peel of thunder outside, and the beginnings of a patter of rain on the tin roof of the abandoned inn. It picks up quickly, and after only a few moments, it has become a tempest, with wind howling and rain hurling down, thick and thorough. 

Otabek pinches Yuri’s nipple, earning him another moan straight into his mouth. He rolls it between his fingers to feel Yuri twist, and Yuri’s fingernails rake up over the shoulders of his leather jacket, over his cheeks, into his hair. 

Yuri winds his fingers into Otabek’s thick black hair, his arms wrapping around Otabek’s neck. And if there is a Heaven, Otabek thinks, it will involve Yuri Plisetsky’s arms around his neck. 

They moan into each others mouths, and every one of Yuri’s sounds shoots through Otabek to throb between his legs. He is burning up in his leather pants, his cock stiff and hot. And he can feel Yuri’s hardness, too, pressed hungrily against his thigh. 

With a grunt of effort, Otabek pulls away from Yuri’s wonderful mouth. He bends down to wrap his arms around Yuri’s thighs, and lifts him. He carries him across the room, to the soft-carpeted floor that is framed and hidden from the basement stairs by two plush couches. 

*

Men don’t kiss during the gang's initiations. They don’t rake their fingers through each others hair or touch each other through their clothes. This is not normal, Yuri knows, what he and Otabek are doing. 

But he doesn’t care. He has never wanted anything so badly. 

Yuri doesn’t want Otabek to let go of him for a minute. He wraps his legs around Otabek’s waist and locks his ankles, so that Otabek has to drop to his knees, and lower himself down on top of Yuri as he lays him back on the rug. Yuri presses his hips up against Otabek’s, and lets his hands fall back over his head in surrender. 

Otabek is pulling Yuri’s pants off. He’s making no move to remove his own clothes, but Yuri doesn’t care. He wants to be helpless, to be a naked prize for Otabek to do what he wants with. His socks are gone, his muscle shirt stretched off over his arms, and Otabek is sliding his underwear down around his knees. 

“Yura…” Otabek breathes, something like adoration in his voice, and his hand floats down to rest, still and light, on Yuri’s cock. “Ohh--!” Yuri gasps, as the touch, so alien and strange, sends a ripple through all of him. 

When Otabek lifts his hand away, Yuri’s cock is on fire. 

“More, Beka,” he gasps, an unfamiliar tone of pleading in his own voice. “More... _please_ …I’m ready… _ohhhh_ …I want…” 

Otabek growls with desire, and wrenches a condom and a tube of lubricant out of his back pocket. He spreads lube over Yuri’s cock first, and strokes him a little, soothing him with the coolness and the rubbing. Then he undoes his own pants, and Yuri watches in the room’s half-light as he pulls out his own cock; thick, and swollen with arousal, unrolls the condom over it, and slides it through the lube in his fist. 

Then Otabek’s slicked fingers are pressing inside of him, one at a time, working him open, and Yuri can’t help it; he twists and lets out little cries of pleasure. Otabek’s fingers are thick, and rough, and experienced, and Yuri has never felt anything like this before. “Ah… _ahh_...” His back arches, and he clenches his teeth. 

His hand, flung back over his head…brushes against something strange. 

It feels like the stem of a flower. 

Yuri is too distracted to care what is going on around him at this moment. But Otabek pauses, and reaches up with his free hand to the floor over Yuri’s head. 

He brings back a bouquet of roses. Red. And Yuri gapes at him, chest still heaving, confused. Otabek’s expression is still, and as always, nearly unreadable. But there is something in his eyes, something tender and almost vulnerable. 

He lays the roses down on Yuri’s chest. “For you,” he says simply. 

Yuri gawks at him. No one has ever given him flowers before. It makes an uncomfortable burning sensation start in Yuri’s heart. He doesn’t know what to do with it or where to put it, so he sets the flowers back on the floor behind his head and sits up to shove his body against Otabek’s. 

He grasps Otabek’s wrist to push Otabek’s fingers deeper inside of him. He grabs at Otabek’s other hand, the one that gave him the roses, and wraps it around his own throat. He pulls Otabek down on top of him and lets his every muscle go limp. He looks into Otabek’s eyes, trying to show his surrender in just his look, to show Otabek that he is his to do anything he wants with. 

“For you,” Yuri rasps. 

Otabek grasps him fiercely by the hips and flips him over. 

There’s a blunt pressure at Yuri’s ass, and then Otabek is pressing inside of him, and Yuri hears himself let out something like a scream of pleasure. He claps a hand over his mouth, mortified, but he doesn’t have long to dwell on it, because the sensation of Otabek’s cock in him is drowning out everything else. 

The sound of the rain outside is just a numb, distant beating. 

Otabek sinks in deeper, and the feeling of that hot flesh, throbbing through the thin condom, is all that Yuri cares about in the world. It stretches him, and it hurts, but Yuri _loves_ it. 

Otabek pulls out a little, and shoves back in with a low groan. His mouth is on the back of Yuri’s neck. The smell of his cologne is all around Yuri, mingling with the perfume of the roses. He starts to sink into a rhythm, one hand on the floor beside him for leverage, and the other wrapped around Yuri’s throat. 

“ _Yura_ …” Otabek shoves into him, harder and deeper every time, and Yuri feels like he is going to lose his mind, with the splitting ache of the pleasure, and the tenderness between the two of them that he can’t stand. 

He grasps at the roses splayed out above his head, and tears them apart to keep still, bites at the blooms to keep from screaming. 

His cock is rubbing against the soft rug below him as Otabek makes his hips move, and the soft, hot friction is going to make him cum. Otabek is moaning, shoving into him more and more roughly. 

Yuri can feel a sharp pain inside his ass, more intense with each rough thrust, and he knows that he must be bleeding. But he is not going to tell Otabek that, for the risk that he will stop. 

Yuri wants to bleed for him. And only him. Only him, ever. 

“Beka, I’m gonna…I’m gonna cum,” he gasps, and Otabek snarls with lust, his hand tightening around Yuri’s throat. His hips grind Yuri’s down into the floor, and Yuri’s body spasms with pleasure. He screams again, unable to stop himself, as he loses control of his body in a wave of ecstasy and cums in the carpet. 

Otabek follows Yuri over the edge, powerless against his screams. He shoves into him over and over again as he cums, so roughly that Yuri sees stars. 

The roses are a torn and bitten mess in Yuri’s hands, his forearms streaked with red. He can taste them on his lips, in his mouth. 

Yuri has never felt so high. He moans, drifting and lost in a dreamy paradise, as Otabek flips him over and kisses his chest, collarbone, and neck, his breath ragged and wrecked against Yuri’s skin. 

After a little while, Otabek lifts Yuri and carries him to the couch. He lays him out carefully. Then he lies down by his side and pulls the couch’s old blankets over them. Yuri adjusts to lay his cheek on Otabek’s chest, and Otabek wraps his arms around Yuri’s slender body, and they fall asleep like that, the space between them full of a tenderness that neither of them can bear.

**Author's Note:**

> For people who are interested in reading this gang wars au in its entirety, it's available here: :) http://archiveofourown.org/works/11039316/chapters/24606993
> 
> The ship is Otayuri overall, but there are a lot of other characters and pairings that have screen time too. 
> 
> I'm on tumblr: basilique.tumblr.com


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